Beat of My Own Drum
by Lock Owl
Summary: Addaliel, daughter of Elrond and Celebrian, looks just like any other Elf, aside from her small frame. But something is very wrong about Addaliel, something very difficult for her family to understand and accept. (slightly AU)
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places.  
  
Author's Note: For the aging of Elves, in this story, I am using the scale of one Elf year to four mortal years. If it ever says "Arwen was eight" or any such thing, just divide by four to get her age in mortal years. Also, if anything is wrong in this story and you cannot correct it politely ("do your homework", any form of insult, and any comment about my lack of right to write fanfiction stories is not polite) please refrain from correcting at all.  
  
Chapter One  
  
Elrond's perspective  
  
*****  
  
Addaliel was always a bit of an oxymoron. She was a problem child, without actually being at all troublesome. Elladan, the oldest of the four, was a true problem child, and while I shall never truly know why it was that he was so difficult I suspect he thrived on attention, be it positive or negative. Elrohir, equally, always seemed to be thinking. Even when he was asleep, his eyes looked serious and busy. He seemed very unhappy, laughing rarely, but he tells me that he was not, simply, he had much to contemplate. That child was born old.  
  
The twins were grown by the time Celebrian gave birth again, this time to a girl. I prayed to the Valar that this one would not be so trying as the last two, and she was quite the opposite. With Arwen around, one would appreciate Elladan's antics and Elrohir's near-to depression. Nothing was wrong with Arwen, and this in of itself could be very trying; she could sew and sing and all of those things expected of ladies to a degree of perfection. The child never caused mischief and, most likely, did not tell a single lie in her entire life.  
  
Addaliel, however, was something else. Arwen was eight years old when Addaliel was born, the twins one hundred nineteen. Luckily the boys understood perfectly well what birth and pregnancy was all about, and they managed to entertain Arwen while her sister was born, a mercifully short thirty minutes. The twins had been born after a labor of three hours and Arwen herself took four, so Celebrian was ready for about that much time.  
  
From the moment she entered this world the girl was smaller than she ought to be. For a while we were worried that something might be wrong, for although Elves do not get sick, an Elf may still have a defect; nobody's perfect. When Addaliel screamed and cried herself to sleep that first day, neither of us thought of how Arwen and the twins had done similarly, simply that something must be wrong with her. The next morning she was just fine, and after two weeks of "just-fine" mornings, we believed her healthy.  
  
The twins and Arwen looked similar, all sharing the same grey eyes, dark hair, and soft features. Addaliel had her mother's looks, lighter brown hair that did not look black at all, even when wet, and her face look as if it were carved out of stone. The trait shared between all of them, however, was eyes of grey, for they had no other colour to inherit.  
  
As with all children Addaliel grew, but she did not grow much. Always she was small for her age, even as an adult she could pass off for only about seventy-six years, having neither Arwen's height nor the solid frame of the boys. Her fingers looked as though one could break them off with minimal efforts, yet there never seemed a physical burden she faced that she could not overcome. Perhaps the short hair helped, keeping her from looking buried.  
  
The first word she ever said was "Atara", not much of a surprise to anyone. After that word, the rest seemed to follow like raindrops, each new one causing her to trip up, but repeated a second time with perfection. She was an early talker, but an ardent one, and it seemed we would have a taleteller on our hands. As things happened she was never a taleteller.  
  
One day, eighteen years into her life, Addaliel lost her words. She shut her mouth and never spoke another word. Again we thought something was, somehow, wrong with her, and we tried to correct it. Forever I will grieve for the damage those next years did to my child, for young though she was she knew what was happening on some level, but not quite why.  
  
But this I will speak more of later.  
  
Personality was a word that Addaliel tripped herself over three times, more or less a record for her, and as soon as she had that word down she did not stop saying it, as if a day without "personality" was a day her heart would break. Years later, her own personality began to show.  
  
As I started to explain earlier, Addaliel was an oxymoron. Energy seemed to explode spontaneously from within her. Walking slowly down a hallway (for Addaliel walked slowly), she would suddenly drop whatever was in her hands and sprint, turning a cartwheel around the next corner. Addaliel was more or less a girl of cloth, she could twist her body into any number of positions that would break bones or mangle most others.  
  
Slowly it began to become clear that while her bursts of energy were unplanned, sometimes she did things to make others happy without being too obvious about this. Elrohir was her first target. The two had always been very close, although not in age. Now, by this point I had learned that the second I relaxed in any way Addaliel caused a stir, not on purpose, just because that was her way.  
  
This particular day, there was a great thump sort of sound, then a sound of something rather heavy hitting the floor, and more things falling onto whatever it was. I dashed out into the corridor to see a lump against the wall, where there should have been a tapestry hanging. This lump was thrashing about quite a bit, and I realized that Addaliel had managed to pull the tapestry from the wall and was trapped underneath it. There had also been a short table with a number of unlit candles on it, which also seemed to have fallen over.  
  
Addaliel was a mess, once she managed to get the tapestry off her. Her hair was in a state of complete disarray, a bruise forming over her left eye where a candle had hit her. She was grinning in a sort of way that she knew she had done something wrong, but unintentionally, and she was sorry for it.  
  
That was when I noticed the giggling. Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen were crowded together down the corridor, watching Addaliel, pressing their palms to their mouths to keep from laughing. "Are you all right?" I asked, offering my hand to help her up. Addaliel took my hand, pulled herself to her feet, and promptly fell over again. Tears of mirth sprang to her eyes.  
  
Addaliel managed to climb to her feet, then looked down the hall and smiled secretly at Elrohir. She never knocked down another tapestry after that, but she did earn more than her share of bruises. Celebrian joked that perhaps she was making up for Arwen and Elrohir, who had not been very active. "In her own time," Celebrian told me, "she will grow out of it." Celebrian said that about everything when referring to Addaliel; in her own time she would learn to walk, in her own time she would stop crashing into things, in her own time. . .  
  
***** .  
  
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So, what thought have you got? Love it? Hate it? I'd love to hear from you, even if you hate so long as you keep it civil. 


	2. Alpha

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places.  
  
Musicgirl: Thank you! The last line was meant to do that, actually. (yes, I am terrible evil with cliff-hangers ()  
  
Pandapearl: Actually there will not be much of a plot. This story is based more on emotion, a sort of type of diary following the life of a silent Elf. It also goes through to the end of the war, so it has got some plot, but not the best of one. But please stick with it! It's better than it sounds, I promise.  
  
Aldrea: Thanks! It really is encouraging to hear things like that.  
  
And thanks to my lovely beta reader, without whom I probably would have a lot more spelling errors.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Elrond's Perspective  
  
******  
  
Coming out of Celebrian's bedchamber, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. The boys had fallen asleep, slumped over each other and leaning against the wall. A peace that, in waking, they never radiated seemed to hang over them, and for a moment my eyes lingered on them, taking comfort in the sight of my children, but it was not so with Addaliel. As I turned my head I saw her, standing there against the wall, hands behind her back. I had not even known she was awake. Her face had a very aloof look on it, as though she knew so much.  
  
"What do you know?" I wanted to shout at her. "Tell me what you know!" But I kept this inside. Tempted though I was to shake her until she screamed, just to break that terrible silence, I only turned my head and walked on. There was accusation in her eyes, an accusation that I will forever dream about. If only she could speak, I wonder what she would have said.  
  
*****  
  
Addaliel's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
I had been in bed, but in a very light sleep, and hoofbeats interrupted my dreams. As if in a trance I slipped from my bed and walked to my bedroom door. By standing on the tips of my toes I was able to reach the doorknob (here you must remember that I was very small) and pushed open the door, and sneakingly entered the hallway  
  
Very few times had I been outside at night, and the world was completely different after Anor had set. The air bit at my throat, cheeks, nose, and ears. Rubbing my nearly frozen fingers together, I gazed at the darkened shapes of the near-by trees, and at the stars, so clear in the heavens above.  
  
My feet were bare, and I wore only sleeping clothes; light pants and a loose tunic that provided little protection from the elements. A howling wind chilled me to the bone, at the same time caressing and carving into me. Dancing from foot to foot, I waited in the shadows and darkness for my brothers. The wait was a short one.  
  
I knew as soon as my brothers returned that Atara would not make it. I knew that even if she did, by choice she would leave us for Valinor. I knew that the others would be grief-stricken, Ada worst of all. I loved them all dearly, and more than anything I wanted to tell them, but how could I?  
  
Elladan made stopped first, dismounting. Before him in the saddle was a figure as limp as a rag-doll, which I identified as my Atara. Elladan took her in his arms and began to run inside as Elrohir took their horses to the stables. Halfway to the door Ada met him, and he took Atara from Elladan.  
  
Elrohir was back in an instant. The twins followed Atara and Ada inside, but I remained outside for a few moments longer. The night was as beautiful as ever, as perfect and chilling, but I could no longer appreciated. Silently, alone, I wept bitterly. Then I turned and headed inside.  
  
For hours I stood outside of Atara's bedchamber, just waiting for Ada to come out, so I could tell him what I knew. The words grew in my throat, ready to come out, but as soon as Ada was there. . .I could not even open my mouth, let alone speak.  
  
I did not, as I would later tell Ada, go straight to my bed after that. Instead I reached up and turned the doorknob, slipping into my Atara's bedchamber. Why I did this I shall never know, but I do not regret it and doubt I ever will. In the first few moments I did not think at all, just slipped inside and shut the door quietly behind me.  
  
As soon as I turned to face the room, the atmosphere hit me. The severity of the unspoken rule I was breaking shook me. Yet I did not turn around, but took one tiny step forward. One step led to another, and soon I stood by my Atara's side.  
  
The sight made me sick. Atara's face was as pale as death, awash in a cold sweat. Her hair was lifeless and unorganized about her face. If not for the steady rise and fall of her chest, I would not have thought her to be alive. White linen sheets, pulled up to her chin and already soiled with a heavy sweat, covered most of her body. Her lips were slightly parted.  
  
I reached out my hand to feel her breath. It came, as a great relief to me. I was satisfied that she had lived, but a perverse idea had crept into my head, and slowly it consumed me. With the speed of the slowest snail in Middle-earth I lifted the bedding from her body, gazing through her semi- transparent nightgown, and was at once awed by the scars and wounds all over my Atara's perfect body.  
  
Suddenly the window slammed shut., and Atara groaned. I dropped the coverlet back over her and ran from the room as fast as my legs would carry me.  
  
Arwen is my big sister, but as soon as I saw her later that morning I realized that she was not nearly as. . .aware as I. She knew that something was wrong, but she did not know what. I froze up; only twenty-six years old, and Arwen so much my senior. I had counted on her for comfort yet could not seek it from her.  
  
She sat by herself in the dining hall, eating breakfast. Eating; it was so normal, so uncannily usual, that it filled me with rage. I wanted to slap her for being so ignorant, but I did not. Instead I walked silently to her and stood by her side.  
  
"Something is going on," she told me absently. I nodded, but Arwen was not watching me. In this moment I realized that because I was without words, Arwen saw me as little more than a doll. Trying to prove her wrong I walked over to her and gave her a hug, which she shook off without another thought. "I will tell you when I find out what it is," she promised me.  
  
Three days later, Atara left for Valinor.  
  
"Celebrian," Ada pleaded, "this is unnecessary. Think of the children, Celebrian! Would you deny them an Atara?"  
  
"Elrond, I cannot expect you to understand," Atara replied in a sympathetic voice. "I love our children, and I love you, very much, but I cannot remain here."  
  
"Why can you not?" This had come from Elladan. The twins stood by the door, hand-in-hand, watching as Atara packed her belongings and prepared to leave.  
  
"Whatever it is we have done in the past, Atara, we will do better," Elrohir promised.  
  
"Oh, ion-nin," Mother sighed. She placed her hands on Elrohir's face, and gazed into his eyes. "I love you more than you can know. But after what happened to me in those caves, I cannot go on living in this world. I am sorry."  
  
"At least think of Addaliel!" Elladan cried. The last thing I wanted was to be called into defense. Somehow, I could not bring myself to argue with Atara. Someday, I knew, I would understand, and until then I would not argue. "She is only a child."  
  
"I am so sorry," Mother whispered, kneeling and taking me in her arms. "There are some things, my child, that you are too young to understand." I wrapped my thin arms around her, holding on as tightly as possible. This would be the last time she ever held me, and I wanted to savor the moments, her warmth, the feel of her hair falling slightly over my face. After a time she reached up and loosed my grip, and I allowed this.  
  
Once more she kissed her sons and her daughter Arwen, embraced her husband and begged him to understand, and then she left us for what to me looked like an eternity. "We will see her again," Ada said, but my siblings and I knew that we would not see her again--not for a very long time.  
  
*****  
  
*Ada is Dad (Adar is Father, but Ada is more of a term of endearment, really)  
  
*Atara is Mother  
  
*Anor is Sun  
  
*ion-nin is my son  
  
*Valinor is the name for the Undying Lands 


	3. Beta

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/r places thereof.  
  
Musicgrl: Thanks! As for visuals, it really seems silly to me that some people write only for plot, and tell what is going on but not where.  
  
Artemis: Thank you! Sindarin is fun, although my teachers hate it when I'm sort of zoning out in class, and they say my name loudly and I reply "Mani naa ta?" Yay, another grammar addict! Addaliel is about three feet, maybe a bit more, at this point, but of course she is the mortal equivalent of a six-and-a-half-year-old. She will probably never be much more then four and a half feet tall. Sorry it has taken so long, but I will read Elf in a Cage. Have you ever heard of the book The Girl in the Cage? I'm not saying you plagiarized, just that it is a funny coincidence of the titles. Oh, and by the way, do you know what a split infinitive is? I've asked around, but no one seems to know!  
  
Nihtfyr: Actually, Addaliel is twenty-six, making her about six by my measure, so Arwen would be around eight. I guess I hadn't really thought much on that, thanks for pointing it out. As for it being a Mary-Sue, if it is then I hope you will excuse it, the creation would have been unintentional.  
  
Littlesaiyangirl: Thanks!  
  
Blue jeans baby: Thanks! I try not to conform. . .Does your name come from the song 'Tiny Dancer', by any chance?  
  
*****  
  
Elrond's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
It was too much for me, after Celebrian left. She left me with two very young daughters, one son angry and the other "thinking" even more often, old wounds reopened, and a twice-broken heart. I sent the boys to Lothlorien to ask Lady Galadriel to come to Imladris, needing her help, though with what I could not say, and knowing that she would come.  
  
When Elros left, I was young. His leaving cut me deeply, for he was the first person I ever truly lost for ever, and I had never thought we would ever be separated. At first I had been unable to believe it, and that I could go on, my heart aching with every breath I took. After a time the ache grew less, until it was not a cutting pain, and I could go on properly with my life. The ache never left. I still feel it whenever I draw in breath.  
  
And, at times, I would cry for him at night, when all was still and my sorrow was too great. Celebrian, beside me, would awake at once, and she would hold as if I were a child, which at those times I was. I should have hated for my children to see that. After Celebrian left I swore never to cry again.  
  
I knew Arwen would understand that Elladan and Elrohir were going to return shortly, but worried for Addaliel. I was strangely backwards yet again. Arwen sobbed as soon as the boys were gone, shaking. She buried her head in her hands, and although I did my best to console her she did not stop crying for a long time. Addaliel watched all of this, her lips pressed together, her eyes dull yet full of emotion.  
  
Again she baffled me. I wished she could speak, so that I might ask her questions and secure answers. It never occurred to me to have her write out replies, for at this time I was still questioning her intelligence, wondering id her mind was as useless as her tongue. These thoughts were very cruel, and I am glad she never knew of them.  
  
The day after the twins had left, I looked up to see Addaliel standing quietly, staring at me intently. I had not heard her come in. She turned, motioning for me to follow, and in her own way asked me to help her get a book off a rather high shelf. Following this curious event, I hardly saw her until the twins returned.  
  
*****  
  
Addaliel's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
Shortly after Atara left, my brothers Elladan and Elrohir carried a letter to Galadriel, a complete stranger to me. They would be gone for a month, leaving me virtually alone: Arwen was never particularly much of a companion to me, misunderstanding a lack of speech for a lack of intelligence (although, bless her, she meant no harm and was a good person), and Ada, needless to say, was incredibly upset over Atara's departure.  
  
Guiltily, I had done my best to beg them to allow me to accompany them. To do this I tagged along with them all the time, hoping they understood. At last, Elrohir told me, "Ali--" his nickname for me "--you cannot come. I am sorry, lonesome as you may be here it is a dangerous road, and you are young yet." Though I did not understand, I pestered the boys no more after that.  
  
In the month I grew very much. Not so much I grew taller, for I was stunted all my life, but I grew older, and learned better to manipulate my height disadvantages--equally advantageous in certain situations that had yet to arise. But being more or less on my own, it was somewhat difficult for me to get through any day without my height once becoming an obstacle.  
  
I would reach for a book and find it far above my head and out of reach. Being both young and short, my options as I saw them were limited to climbing the shelves, getting help, or pulling over a chair and standing upon it. My decision was to seek assistance, but as my hand hit the doorknob, I paused. Would this not occur in later life? I had been in a similar predicament earlier that week, and had had trouble getting attention for myself without speech, and requesting help without saying so.  
  
The chair was bigger than me, and it took effort to move, but after a time of perhaps a quarter of an hour I was atop the chair and retrieving the desired object. What the book was or why I needed it I have forgotten now, but it was the actually actions, not their causes that defined me then.  
  
After that I did not ask for help. I invented ways of retrieving things and completing tasks. Saddling a horse, for instance, was a rather large obstacle--perhaps the most difficult to conquer--in my battle for independence. Evening a saddle blanket was an evil, evil task, and tying the knot that kept the girth in place on the horse's left side was just as hard.  
  
On some nights Arwen and I would be as sisters, as we rarely ever had been. Those times made me remember when I first stopped speaking, and Arwen yanked on one of my tails of hair, thinking I would cry out. I had spun around and punched her, and she did cry out--very much. After her failure she did not try again, and that seemed to be more-or-less her way of doing things. Those nights that we were kin, I would hear my door creak open, and I began to realize that this was Arwen. She climbed into bed beside me, and wept against me. I never cried, but I held her.  
  
I wondered often if she had cried in Elladan's or Elrohir's arms before she found mine. Was I simply a substitute? One way or another, I felt no bitterness towards Arwen for these nights, although they failed to alter my routines of rising with the sun but to add dark smudges beneath my eyes.  
  
Ada does not know, and never will, of what I witnessed as a child. He will never know the reason I am so unable to offend anyone--for I am. I have seen what hurt does to people if it is emotional, and I would do that to no one. Ada never understood why, no matter who it was that cried, I would hold them and comfort them, but it was because no one deserved to suffer as I had seen. But rarely could I help my family, whose pain I saw closer and far more often. When Arwen came to me to cry, I felt a sort of satisfaction. I sicken even myself with this, being self-satisfied when another was in pain, yet I could do naught to stop this unbidden feeling. I have never forgiven myself for it.  
  
The twins returned to find me an altogether different Elf. It was the first time my independence was called into question. When Elrohir attempted to help me I would push him aside, which hurt me very much, for I loved my brother, but independence was my first priority.  
  
Lady Galadriel changed all that. 


	4. Gamma

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof.  
  
MaverickGirl: Thanks!  
  
Bluejeansbaby: Thanks, and that song is awesome!  
  
MusicGirl: If you can't see the story, how can you believe it? Visuals matter more than most people realize. Addaliel's story may be sad for a while yet.  
  
Alarielle: Why she's not talking will be explained later, but for now suffice to say she has her reasons. By the end of the story, you'll know them.  
  
Littlesaiyangirl: Will try to.  
  
Obi-Zahn Kenobi: I wasn't, thanks. Half off is quite good enough, as far as I'm concerned, and if my calculations were a little incorrect, oh well. As for twins, it really does annoy me that you would say that. As a twin myself, I have seen that just because two people grow up in the same environment, come from the same egg even, does not mean they will be the same. "Rather illogical" as you may call it, life is not science. It's not Sindarin. There are at least four different Elvish words for mother, and I just chose one. Ion-nin was what I used for "my son". As for putting more effort into it, um, excuse me, I have what's called a life? Football practice, chores, school? I used one site as a resource and it seems to have worked just fine. As for learning English better, that is NOT a comment one should make out of the blue. If you can justify it I don't mind, but you don't seem to care about that.  
  
Author's Note: I forgot to mention last chapter that I know Arwen was older when her mum went to Valinor, but I changed it for the purposes of this story.  
  
*****  
  
Addaliel's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
When Lady Galadriel arrived, Ada told Arwen and I, "You two have never met Lady Galadriel before, but she is your mother's mother." Arwen shouted some gleeful and happy thing, and threw her arms around the Lady. I did not, for I did not fully trust her. Some foreign essence surrounded her, and I was wary of it. Galadriel spoke to Arwen in a manner I at once despised her for: condescending and sugary-sweet. Arwen gushed, loving our grandmother at once.  
  
In this moment I realized that my father no longer loved me. He looked at me with a question and a command in his eyes, but I held back. I was not the daughter he wanted, the docile little lamb that Arwen was. I was defected, broken. I was a bad daughter, and my father was ashamed of me. Let him be, an angry voice said. He does not understand.  
  
Elladan approached me. "Hey, little sister! Have you been well?" he asked cheerfully. I smiled at him. Elladan lifted me in the air and spun me around, then hugged me and set me on the ground again. He was still the same to me, the same as when I lost my voice and the same as before Atara left. I smiled wider at my brother and hugged him tightly. He ruffled my hair.  
  
"And who is this little one?" asked an airy, over-friendly voice.  
  
"Dell--" this was Elladan's nickname for me, "say hello, yeah?" Elladan suggest. I tightened my hold on him and buried my face in his pant leg, knowing I was young enough to get away with this. Elladan knelt while gently pulling my arms away. "Hey, you know better, Addaliel." He looked me in the eye, and my rebellion melted. I turned to the Lady and curtsied, bowing my head.  
  
"Hello, child. What is your name?" Galadriel asked. I began to gnaw on my lip and shook my head. "I asked you a question," Galadriel said, her voice taking a dangerous tone, "and it would be polite to answer it."  
  
"Addaliel has not a voice, grandmother," Elladan said. "I am sure my father has told you as much?" His voice had taken a similar tone, and I knew he was being the big brother just then. Perhaps the only time he sobered was when he was defending one of his younger siblings.  
  
"Of course, how silly of me to forget." Galadriel and Elladan were battling now, their eyes locked and their tones equally menacing. I did not fully understand, but I saw beads of sweat appear on my brothers forehead before the Lady showed signs of being anything but relaxed. I knew that this was my chance to return the favor to my brother. If only I could shout to draw their attention away from each other!  
  
Instead I lunged, embracing my grandmother as Arwen had done. Both of them looked down at me in shock. "Well, hello," she say cheerfully. I had pleased her. I had disappointed myself.  
  
Every second was a battle of wills. Galadriel rose to any challenge, matching Elladan and myself in stubbornness. I hated her thoroughly by the last night of her visit, and was doing my best to avoid her. That day was cold, so I sat in the library by the fire and read until my eyes hurt, then I went to sleep.  
  
I dreamed of my mother. In my dream, I saw her being tortured by the Orcs. They burned her and hit her. I wanted to reach out to her, to save her, to shoo the orcs away, but I was frozen in place. Mother cried out in pain, begging for help, and I wept that I could not help her.  
  
I was thrashing about when I awoke, weeping and sweating heavily. Throwing the sheet off my body, I went to find Ada--maybe he no longer loved me as a daughter, and maybe he never had, but at least he would emptily complete the motions of comforting me. What I had not expected, however, was that Galadriel would find me in the hall. When I saw her coming I sank into the shadows, but to no good.  
  
"My dear child, what are you doing?" she asked, placing a hand on my shoulder blades and drawing me forward. "What happened?" All I could do in response was sniff and shake my head, wishing I could fling away my tears. "Did you have a night terror?" she asked, and I nodded, shame-faced. "That is nothing to be ashamed of, child! You are yet young." She held me for a moment, then released me. To my surprise I did not want her to let me go. "Would you like me to get your Adar for you?" I shook my head fervently. "All right then," she said with a curious nod, and she lifted me in her arms. I was surprised, for she had not appeared strong, but she sure seemed it.  
  
After laying me down in my bed and pulling the sheets over me, Galadriel bade me good night and turned to go. I grabbed her hand unconsciously. She looked back at me, surprised, then knelt beside the bed. It occurred to me that Galadriel had been an Atara, as well, for she knew just what to do to calm me. She petted my forehead and spoke softly. After a time she said, "Addaliel, tomorrow Arwen is accompanying me back to my home of Lothlorien. Will you come with us? The choice is yours to make."  
  
*****  
  
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Author's Note: Short chapter, I know. Sorry! So, what does everybody want her to do? Lothlorien, or Imladris? It's up to you! I'll try to have the next one done quicker. 


	5. Delta

"Is there anything to feel?/Is it pain that makes you real?"  
  
-The GooGoo Dolls  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof  
  
Cyberwing: Thanks!  
  
Hardcorewwnut: Elladan sort of feels like that is his sister, and he doesn't care what impediments she has, she's not chattel, she's a member of his family. Do you know what I mean? Elrond's feelings will be cleared up a bit in this chapter.  
  
Blue Jeans Baby: Thanks. Her answer is in this chapter. (of course)  
  
Artemis: Thanks! Split infinitive. . .no one would tell me what that meant (no one knew)! Thank you! And I do try to focus on emotion as well as plot and such. As for flamers, it just bothers me when people tell me about things that I know about from real life--like how twins act. I know I reacted badly. . .ah, but how could it have been explained when Addaliel did not understand?  
  
Littlesaiyangirl: The chapters are short because I generally just sit down and write on a whim.  
  
MusicGrl: Elladan sees her as his sister no matter what. He doesn't see people as "defected", because they are all unique individuals, each with his or her own merits. (Yeah, so you can probably tell who I based Elladan off of. . .)  
  
*****  
  
Elrond's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
I never stopped loving my daughter; this much, at least, I should like to be very clear about. I had. . .after Celebrían left, I hadn't the energy for Addaliel. I loved her still, but she was so needy. But no, that is untrue. The truth of it was, I wanted to help her, and never knew how. She was never needy. I wanted to be her father and she shut me out.  
  
It was not a complete surprise when she left with Galadriel and Arwen. Galadriel had been angry, probably blaming me for Celebrían's departure. A part of me returned that anger, for I, too, suffered the loss of a loved one. Elbereth forbid she should see this. . .  
  
Looking back, perhaps I blamed Addaliel for things she was too young to have understood, let alone caused. Perhaps I saw Celebrían's leaving as Addaliel's fault: if she had only been a better daughter. . .But then, I could have been a better husband. This much is undeniable. Perhaps we all failed Celebrían, in our own ways, and perhaps she simply sensed that it was her time to go.  
  
Arwen took much cheer from Rivendell. The long corridors seemed silent without her spirited laughter, gloom seemed to settle into every corner. But, though Arwen came first to my mind, it was Addaliel that really took the mirth from Rivendell. Arwen may have laughed, but Addaliel brought on the laughter. I never stopped being disappointed that a day would pass without the crashing sound of my youngest child failing halfway through a cartwheel. Even Elladan and Elrohir felt this, I think, although they would never tell me. The two Elflings took the happiness from our lives.  
  
Was it hard for me? Very. I lost my wife, whom I loved. Her mother, perhaps simply to spite me, took my daughters. Elrohir was "thinking" even more than usual. Elladan hid his pain, instead lashing out at the world. Both boys secluded themselves from all external stimuli. I did what I could for them, but the most I could do was let them know I was there for them. This mattered little, for they had lost faith in me.  
  
*****  
  
Addaliel's Perspective  
  
******  
  
At first I missed my brothers, and wished I could earn back my place in my father's heart, but soon I grew to love the nature of Lothlorien, the way if one was not careful one would pass into a dream state. Galadriel was not the hateful creature I had at first thought her to be. As it happened, she was very kind and understanding, especially to me. She would say things voicing exactly my emotions without condescending.  
  
In Lothlorien, I advanced in my studies, delving into Quenya and Westron. In these undertakings Celeborn assisted me. I think he enjoyed tutoring me. My grandparents, I learned quite quickly, could have an extraordinarily commanding presence, but they were truly good people. Arwen never took my interest in studying, not at all, although she looked on often, and Celeborn would tell her that she was free to join us, if she liked. This invitation she always denied.  
  
Arwen adjusted well to the move. She was rather lacking in emotional depth, as a child, and minded not leaving our home and immediate family. Very quickly Arwen befriended an Elf eight years older than us by the name of Haldir. She may have even had a crush on him, of this I am unsure. As Arwen grew closer to this boy she drew away from me, which was just as well, as Arwen saw me only as doll, a devotee, and would have been disappointed to know that these were untruths.  
  
But without her companionship, I was lonely. I wanted to tell Galadriel and Celeborn what was wrong, but could not. Finally, my silence became a burden I could not bear. It was then that I learned to play the violin. At first, I picked up the instrument simply to make a bit of noise. The sounds that came from it were choked and squeaky, but this was quickly corrected. "Addaliel--" Celeborn began in a somewhat angry voice, but Galadriel interrupted him.  
  
"She wishes only to communicate," Galadriel said. To me, she asked, "Would you like me to teach you to play properly, Addaliel?"  
  
Yes, please! my heart shouted. I smiled widely and nodded.  
  
*****  
  
"Are you sure this is right?"  
  
"He entrusted it to you, did he not?"  
  
"He never meant for it to be publicized."  
  
"I swear to you, word of this will not get out."  
  
"Well. . ."  
  
"He and I were very close friends, he told me everything. I doubt very much that he would mind."  
  
"All right, but just this once. Promise?"  
  
"I promise."  
  
*****  
  
Elrohir's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
Elladan draws often now. I have seen the images he puts to paper, when he allows me or when he accidentally leaves the drawings lying around. Mostly they are angry pictures without shape, defined by harsh lines and darkness. He uses only coal now, never the colorful inks Atara delighted in. On occasion he draws her and our sisters. These drawings, to me, are the most disturbing, for he shows that he wishes to cast them from his heart but cannot.  
  
For myself, I have only my thoughts. I tell myself this, at least, but it seems to be untrue. More and more I find myself reveling in the time without thought. This is rather simply achieved: laying in bed staring at the ceiling, watching the sun set, really any time and any place. Without thought, one can stray from consciousness. One can stray from emotion.  
  
~*~  
  
I take back my words yesterday. They were rash and without thought. It is good to feel. It is. . life. Emotion, be it pain or be it love, be it joy or sorrow, is the very fabric of our beings. I was wrong to denounce it.  
  
Perhaps I should explain, in a little more detail.  
  
The stars were out and the moon high in the sky when I heard a knock at my door. Who it could be I knew not, but I called out over my shoulder, "Come in!" The door opened and closed. I had my face turned away, towards the window. I only turned when I heard a muffled sobbing noise, and I turned.  
  
Elladan stood before me, his entire body shivering. Tears streaked his face and reddened his eyes. "Elladan," I gasped, getting to my feet.  
  
"Elrohir," he said, his voice hardly a whisper, and he fell into my arms. To my surprise, I also cried. When neither of us had the strength to stand we collapsed onto the bed, and lay next to each other. Our tears mixed on the pillow, our hands entwined. We did not need words. Our sorrow, our remorse, the absence within us, was a mutual feeling.  
  
Elrohir and I cried for countless minutes, hours, days. We cried until the stars all fell, until the moon turned the tides from us, until there were no more tears. We cried until we fell asleep. 


	6. Epsilon

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Author's Note: I was unsure of what people would use to write in Middle- earth, so Addaliel uses a quill. Sorry if that's off. Also, once more I have altered the timing of certain events, and would like everyone to know that I am aware of that and have done it on purpose.  
  
Blue Jeans Baby: Thanks. . .I know, I am a sap for melodrama, and it shows up in this story.  
  
Lil Kawaii Doom: Thanks!  
  
Garnet: Synonyms are evil, aren't they? There are never enough of them. Thanks, and although this update took a while I do try to get out new chapters quickly.  
  
Galorin: You're welcome. . .and thank you yourself! At first I was thinking that these would be like memoirs, but then--well, you'll see.  
  
MusicGrl: Uh-oh, those mysteries were accidental. . .um, what were they, exactly, that I might solve them? As for music, I believe that it can move a person more deeply than words, and reach them more strongly. It is easy to ignore words, but difficult to ignore music.  
  
Artemis: Arwen is a bit of a nasty person in this, for a while. I wasn't sure what else to say--probably, looking back, she ought to be "taken with him", not have a crush on him. Action and dialogue are not my strong points, odd as that sounds, but I've tried to add some in this chapter.  
  
Littlesaiyangirl: Aw. . .sorry.  
  
Jasg: I will e-mail you momentarily.  
  
*****  
  
Addaliel's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
Arwen was almost fifty, and I nearing two and forty years, when Galadriel did something that would forever seal my loyalty to her and extreme love of her. We--Galadriel, Arwen, and I--were in the library. It was evening, and winter, so the three of us had clustered by the fire to keep warm. Galadriel sat in a chair reading, and Arwen working on her embroidery, something she had become quite fond of. I was stretched out on the floor, sucking the end of my quill as I worked on a musical composition.  
  
Arwen's sewing basket sat on the floor by her feet, and she accidentally knocked over. She quickly gathered up the scissors, needles, and thread that had fallen on the floor. On particular spool rolled over to me, although I did not notice, having decided where next to take my composition. "Addaliel," said Arwen, "would you bring me that thread, there, by your elbow?"  
  
I looked over briefly, then did as she asked. "Thank you," she said. I nodded and returned to my work. The tone Arwen took with me was the same one she always took; condescending, as though speaking to a very young child. I noticed it, but ignored it, being used to it. Galadriel had observed this interaction, and she frowned.  
  
"Arwen," she said, clearly displeased, "you should not speak to your sister like that, as though she were naught but a rag doll. How do you think this makes her feel?"  
  
"But, grandmother, that's all she is," Arwen replied, as though this were obvious. "Much as I wish it were not so, Addaliel has not much in her head." At this I looked up. I had known she felt this way for years, but it was hurtful to hear her say it out loud.  
  
"That is untrue," Galadriel replied. She had waited years to say this, but before had only suspected it. Now she was sure. Had it not been for emotion she would never have brought this topic to discussion with me present, but I am glad that she did. I should have hated this discussion to take place without my knowledge, then suffer the consequences of it without knowing why.  
  
"It is though. Her mind is without purpose, she cannot think more than to obey."  
  
"Your sister, Arwen, is one of the most intelligent people I know," Galadriel replied, an angry edge to her voice. "Her studies long ago passed yours."  
  
"That is not possible. Her mind is empty, retarded. It will never amount to anything." This would not have hurt quite so deeply had the speaker not been my sister.  
  
"No, Arwen. You are a beautiful girl; this is your blessing. But Addaliel, her mind is her blessing, and it is extraordinary."  
  
"So what? What does it mater," raved Arwen, jumping to her feet, "if she can calculate sums or memorize word lists? There is nothing that makes her a person! She has no feelings, no emotions! She is wasted!" With that she turned and ran from the room, slamming the door angrily behind her. I stared after her, shocked. Everyone who knew us knew Arwen as the beauty, just as Galadriel said. I had never realized that Arwen hated me for it, that she despised the praise I received for my intelligence, but I realized it then. She had to belittle me. Perhaps she did not know this consciously, but it was so. She envied me.  
  
Envied? She did not understand me, then. There was no way she understood-- and it hit me. Arwen thought I was a mute. She thought I was incapable of speech.  
  
It was all too much. Arwen's envy brought fresh my old pains, the ones that took my voice from me. She was hurt now, and there was nothing I could do to help her. She hated me. My own sister hated me. As all these things came clear I burst into tears. Here the most surprising thing happened: I ran to Galadriel, and buried my face in her skirts.  
  
"If I could hide the truth from you forever, I would do it," Galadriel said as she stroked my hair. I did not understand her meaning. When Celeborn came in to tell Galadriel that Arwen was hysterical and had locked herself in her room, I was still crying. What was she to do? "Addaliel, will you be all right if I see to your sister now?" Galadriel asked. I nodded, trying to stop my tears.  
  
I do not recall what happened after that. I know I cried for a long time. When I woke up the next morning, my composition had been placed beside my bed. In my grandmother's neat lettering on another sheet of paper were the words "May I suggest:" followed by an ending to the piece. I did not use her ending. I never finished my composition.  
  
*****  
  
Elrond's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
Twenty years does not seem as though it could stretch an eternity. Let me tell you, it can. One day can stretch an eternity. Guilt set in, after grief and anger, and prolonged the hours of lament. Elladan and Elrohir began leaving Imladris more and more in those years, constantly pursuing bands of orcs. I might have believed that they hated Imladris, and hated me, and would not have blamed them, but for a conversation I overheard between the boys one night.  
  
"I think being away makes me appreciate home all the more," said Elrohir.  
  
"I know what you mean," Elladan replied. I had been walking by, but stopped to listen to my sons talk. Unable to see them, I cannot describe their actions, for I do not know them. "Coming home is wonderful."  
  
"Clean sheets after a month on the ground. . ."  
  
"Fresh food after living out of our pockets. . ." It was Elladan that spoke next. It is this segment of the conversation that always stayed with me. "Ada."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing. . ."  
  
"Me, too, although I would never tell him."  
  
"It seems odd, that we should both miss him when he is never really there."  
  
"He is, but Arwen and Addaliel. . .well, he misses them. A lot."  
  
"Do you ever miss being young?" Elladan asked after a long pause. "Ever miss. . .the way if Ada said something it had to be true, the clear line between good and bad?"  
  
"The comfort of Atara's embrace," Elrohir added. The twins always seem to know the exact meaning of the other's words, as though they could speak without words. "The way Ada could always untangle things."  
  
"You mean when we got into fights?"  
  
"Right. You bring a problem to Ada and he solves it, or at least makes it clear and gives you a push in the right direction." There was a long pause again, and then, "Elladan?" Out in the hall, I sank to the floor and listened to my sons sobbing.  
  
That was five years after my daughters left. It somehow made their absence easier to bear. None of it was truly easy, but without Elladan and Elrohir's words, things would have been insufferable. Then, seventeen years later, something happened that changed everything. The twins went on a hunting trip with a group of Men, and came back with a two-year-old child. 


	7. Eta

Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters and/or places thereof.  
  
MusicGirl: You're so lucky. My parents won't let me play anything. I'm a bit rough round the edges, if you understand. Music is such a universal communication. . .augh. Must. Not. Get. Dreamy.  
  
Lil Kawaii Doom: thanks  
  
Littlesaiyangirl: You guessed it!  
  
Galorin: You probably did figure it out. Thanks!  
  
*****  
  
Addaliel's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
When the letter came, I waited for Arwen to reply. It took her very little time, snapping that she would never, not in a million years, return to Imladris. I was asked if I would go or not, and at once I agreed to. Galadriel and Celeborn probably knew why. I can only hope they do not think ill of me for it. I went because I needed to get away from Arwen.  
  
She ruined my life as best she could. Though I was the main target of her anger, I began to suspect that others had been targeted before me, for she was deft in this skill. It was subtle, at first; assignments I knew I had done would disappear. This first happened with a word list I had memorized. She probably did not realize that it was only kept for reference. The next time, it would be a new list of words or sheet of music. Nothing I had written myself, at first.  
  
Then she must have gotten furious; she was not ruining my life, just bothering me the smallest bit. I was ignoring her, being polite whenever she spoke to me, which was almost never. One night I spent hours agonizing over a composition in Quenya, falling asleep just before dawn when I was finally satisfied with it. Arwen crept into my room and took the composition. She was not even there to see me panic when I noticed it was missing. She did not need to be; the anxiety showed all day.  
  
"I suppose it is all right," Celeborn told me when he understood that I had simply lost it, though I had done it. "But only this once. You have to be careful with where you leave things, Addaliel." I nodded.  
  
Arwen kept stealing my compositions. I caught on and beat her at her own game by simply making a copy of each one, then folding the copy and sliding it under my mattress before going to sleep. If the original was still there in the morning, I slipped the copy into a small drawer. If, as became usual, the original was gone, I used the copy and said it was the original. Galadriel and Celeborn were quite displeased with the shabbiness of the work, but the quality had not changed.  
  
Arwen was not stupid. She thought of a new torment for me, one far more terrible then I imagined she was capable of. This was an amazing plan. It made me realize that she plotted, watched until the moment was just perfect, then struck. If you recall, violin was my life. Galadriel taught me how to play, but the music was inside of me already. Arwen took Galadriel's violin and filed the strings until they broke.  
  
Because I have a habit of playing violin in the middle of the night, I was accused of breaking the strings. I denied it. "All right," Galadriel said, although she clearly did not believe me. The next day the neck of the violin was broken. Again I was blamed for this. "Addaliel, yes or no, did you break the strings yesterday?" I shook my head. "And did you break the violin itself?"  
  
No!  
  
"I cannot believe you," Galadriel said with regret. "No one else had such an interest in music and knew exactly where I kept my violin." She kept it in the library. "If you will only admit that you broke it--"  
  
I didn't! by now I had realized that Galadriel could see my thoughts; this made communication much easier.  
  
"I wish I could believe you. . ." Galadriel shook her head. "You know you are in trouble for this, Addaliel." I nodded, because I was in trouble, even though I had done nothing. "Go and get your violin."  
  
NO! It was not defiance. It was shock. She wouldn't--couldn't. I would die.  
  
"You are still allowed to play, but only with Celeborn or myself present."  
  
You don't understand! Naturally she did not. She did not know that violin was like air to me. I played at all hours of the day and night, channeling all my anger, fear and resentment. Without the violin, who was I? Without the violin, I had no communication, no voice. Didn't she know this?  
  
I realize now that Galadriel never meant to make me suffer as she did. She did not understand, when she took my violin, because to her the violin was merely a hobby. This was the first time my grandmother failed to understand me at all. I gave her my violin without meeting her eyes, then turned away and strode from the room. As soon as I was out in the hall I ran, running and running until I was on the ground, running as the trees passed me by, running until I stopped, breathless. Then I slapped myself. Hard. And went back inside.  
  
Six years passed. Six years, and the only time I was granted access to my precious music was when I was accompanied, not alone, and only when Galadriel or Celeborn had the time. They tried, and I saw that they did, to make it easier. Galadriel taught me how to sew to occupy empty hours I would spend otherwise pining for my lost music. I hated sewing, and would have pricked my fingers to escape it, but this would also have taken away my music in full. After a time it did not matter; music came less and less naturally to me, and finally playing was a chore, for in my dying notes I heard the echo of the person I once was.  
  
When the letter came, I had to go. Arwen had not stopped tormenting me, although she saw how much I suffered the loss of my music. It took a long time for me to forgive her for that. I told Galadriel and Celeborn that yes, I would like to visit my brothers in Imladris. They knew what I meant. "Addaliel, be careful," Galadriel said.  
  
I will.  
  
"Take care of yourself."  
  
I promise.  
  
"Take care of your music."  
  
I did not reply.  
  
"Addaliel?"  
  
What music? Those were some of the bitterest, angriest words I had ever thought. I regretted them at once.  
  
"This music," said Galadriel. Then she hugged me and kissed my forehead, and when she drew away my violin was slung across my back. For the first time in more than six years, I wept.  
  
*****  
  
Elrond's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
I sent the letter when I could bear it no longer. Of course it was easier, once Estel was there, to focus on raising him instead of on missing Arwen and Addaliel. For a long time I was able to believe that they were happy, and it would be best to move on. I would see them again. Elves live for ever. I could wait.  
  
Then Elladan drew a picture. It was of a lake, peaceful and serene. A girl sat by the water's edge, her shoes beside her, but did not go in. Her eyes squinted from the sun's glare. This had to be Arwen--it was identical to Arwen. In the water of the lake a smaller form bobbed half-in and half- out of the water, smiling, imploring the first girl to come in. Addaliel seemed pleased, although she knew Arwen would never swim with her. Elladan drew this picture and left it lying on his desk.  
  
Estel found the picture, and brought it to me. "Who are they?" he asked as I studied the charcoal lines. What could I tell him? He was only nine years old. He would not, could not, understand.  
  
"No one," I replied, setting down the picture. "Elladan invented them." I tried not to let Estel know the sadness this picture brought over me. "Estel. . .would you please see if Elladan or Elrohir has anything for you to do?"  
  
"But--" of course.  
  
"Do as you're told."  
  
With a careful glance about the room he did. I could hear his feet hitting the ground for some time. It reminded me that he was not Elven. Something always kept me from seeing Estel as my own son, although I fostered him and loved him. Perhaps it was his footsteps. He would always stand out so from the Elves. . .it's not that I didn't love him. I just always knew that he was not mine. His destiny owned him, before he was even born.  
  
After a moment I stopped thinking of this, and wrote a letter to Lady Galadriel.  
  
I did not ask for my children back. I simply asked if they would not like to visit Imladris. That was the only request she would not surely refuse. 


	8. Theta

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof  
  
Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took so long; I shall try to do better in the future.  
  
Littlesaiyangirl: Don't worry; Arwen will either repent or get her comeuppance. I'm not sure which, but one way or the other…  
  
Blue Jeans Baby: Don't hate her, she can't help being the character of an angst author! Haha.  
  
Musicgrl: It's that obvious? I pretty much am that way--like Addaliel, rather depressed and silent. Babbling is just fine with me! Ah, 'Loving the Wind', do you like that one? It's only got another chapter or two to go.  
  
Pilot3001: What's confusing you? Maybe I could clarify.  
  
Galorin: Well, Arwen was aiming for complete ruin. Thanks!  
  
*****  
  
Addaliel's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
I rode as many hours as my horse could take, heading straight for Imladris, thinking of nothing but my family--my brothers and my father. A great sense of guilt rose in me as my home came closer and closer, and I began to wonder if what I was doing was quite correct. All my life, though I often did not speak, I tried to improve things for the others. I tried to make them happy; Elladan, Elrohir, Ada. . .Arwen, too, though now I held some dislike for her in my heart. Yet what tragedy had befallen us that it was my extreme failure that I had become so absorbed in my self that I had failed to realize and attend the pains of my family. The thought of this consumed me, and it was by luck alone that on the day I was near ready to turn away, I entered the valley of the Elves.  
  
My heart sang to see those woods again, to smell the scent of the oak trees, so different from the mallorns. Many days I with my brothers and sister would climb in the branches of those trees and look down upon the world, watching adults go about their daily business as we basked in lethargy, shedding tunics as the heat grew, bringing with us cloaks as it faded, but never failing to find a seat and watch the world, as removed, though it were a text and we simply readers. The flowers that grew in the grass we would delight in equally so, though not as often, and pluck carefully to press between the pages of our father's books. Small powdery blue and violet blossoms we would prolong in beauty, savouring every glance and peek at them until at last they would be placed carelessly and crushed, or tossed away by an adult not understanding quite what they were to us. In vivacity a flower pressed is never equal to a flower growing, but this never hindered our pleasures. Even in the grass we found wonders, trying as we might to imitate Elladan's shrill whistle with a blade between his thumbs, only to make the sounds of oliphaunts or rather more rude noises, to the great amusement of our elder brothers--Arwen and I, of course, for Elrohir claimed no need of grass-music. Again with my sister only would I thread the delicate flowers, bedecking our heads with chains of daisies, the blossom of many hours' work which in mere seconds would come easily undone, and be but scattered blooms. Our forbidden pleasures were only the sweeter--stolen from the between white petals the thin strands of plant fibre, saturated with a thick dew tasting of the sweet honey we rarely imbibed, and the plump grasses wielding such a sour flavour when the right pressure was applied, the stalks placed between our lips and our eyes ever searching for an elder. Such days were spent in the woods, our playroom, when we were children.  
  
I reached the stables, and was loath to enter and for even a moment bereft myself of the smells and memories of my childhood, but as always there were things to do, and I was no longer young. Heavy was my heart, weighed down by the unhappy knowledge that the days of carefree romps and unrecognized euphoria had gone and would never return, as I hung my tack and bridle and groomed my horse. I was putting away a few things when I heard voices from within the stables, and I froze, my heart cased in ice as a sweat broke out over my brow and my breath came in laboured gasps. My vision swam, and I slammed my hand against the wall to steady myself, the other hand clutching my throat, as though this would force the air through. The words and tones of the speakers registered at long last, and I calmed a bit.  
  
"Whose horse is this?" one voice was asking. I knew that voice, but could not put a name to it, nor a face.  
  
"I do not know; who in Imladris plays the violin?" Ah, here I knew who spoke, for it was Elladan my brother. "Lady Galadriel, my mother's mother, plays the instrument, but I doubt that she is here and I doubt that she would have so small a--oh!" Here he gasped, and there was a sound as though he had clasped his hands to his mouth. I heard no more, for no more was said and my knees gave out then, my being awash in a cold sweat. "Dell!" Elladan was there, and he held me, kneeling beside me and wrapping me in his arms. I curled in to him, frightened and shaking. "It is all right, Dell. Don't cry, please, every thing is all right," he told me. I nodded. "This is a terrible welcome home," he said as he helped me to my feet. "Oh, Addaliel, you are welcome, and it is so good you have come!"  
  
The way Elladan hugged me then, I knew he expected me to work some form of miracle I could not possibly hope to conceive. Nevertheless, it was my hope that despite this they would love me still, for I dearly loved them. For a moment my mind rested in silence, and enjoyed the feeling of a brother's loving embrace.  
  
Elladan and I walked up to the house together, after excusing ourselves from the presence of Glorfindel--it had been his voice I could not identify. It was a sunny day and Elladan slung my bag over his shoulder like a true gentleman, though he teased me much as we walked. I would not let him hold my violin, and he understood. "I am so glad for you, Dell," Elladan said. I gave him a questioning look, and he added, "You have found your voice, your. . .habit. People like us, we are not quite. . .not quite whole inside, I think. We need something outside to make us complete. For so long you thrived on trying to please the rest of us, you forgot about yourself. Lady Galadriel, much as I may dislike her, has helped you, Dell. Please do not hate me for saying it."  
  
Hate him? I could not, for it was truth. Galadriel and Celeborn had taught me much over the years, and I realized that I did feel much happier now. With a smile at my brother, I began to run. Elladan knew I was challenging him to a race, and he indulged me. This must be so, for while Elladan enjoyed races he always won them. This race I won, though Elladan came up behind me afterwards, and swung me into the air as only brothers know how. I laughed, the silent laugh to which I had come accustomed. "Here, let's get you cleaned up, Addaliel, then you must visit Adar. I have a quite comical idea. . ."  
  
*****  
  
Elrond's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
Estel was in my study at the time, his mind bent to lessons he could not seem to comprehend. I sat at my desk, opposite Estel, and though I also was working it was all I could do to glance at him every few minutes. My heart had changed so since he first came to Imladris, even in the past few weeks I had grown much fonder of the boy, beginning to view him even as my own child. As I was working, I did not notice that Elladan had entered until he shut the door behind him, rather loudly.  
  
"Good morrow, Estel, good morrow, Adar!" said Elladan with cheerful nods.  
  
"Elladan, is there a reason for this visit?" I asked.  
  
"Sure there is, Adar! Estel is the reason, look at the poor boy, cooped up inside all day. What he needs is some fresh air." With this Elladan crossed to the window and threw it open.  
  
"I am just fine, Elladan," Estel said. "But I have work to do!"  
  
"Work, work, work; but you are a child, Estel!" Elladan replied, leaning out the window as estel turned back to his studies. "You need to live a little, baby brother! And Adar--do you know what you need, Adar?"  
  
"No, Elladan," I asked without turning to face him. His antics were becoming rather annoying.  
  
"This," he said. I turned, angry, only to see the Elladan had pulled through the window Addaliel. She was standing beside him, grinning, as Elrohir scrambled through the window after her. For a moment I could do nothing. I knew tears were brimming in my eyes but I did not care. When the shock of seeing her again wore off and at last I could act, I flew from my seat in such a flutter of emotion as I had not felt in years and held my daughter as I had not in so much time.  
  
*****  
  
Addaliel's Perspective  
  
*****  
  
I never knew that I mattered so much to Ada. In point of fact, I was partially afraid he would be angry with me. His reaction to seeing me again dispelled that illusion. He hugged me and kissed my face all over, near tears all the while, saying words I did not hear, saying that he was so happy to see me again, so happy…In truth, he was hurting me, holding me so tightly. I allowed him. This had been Elladan's miracle. Without knowing it, I had worked the magic my brother had hoped for simply with my presence. And oh, to know that I was loved! After so long a time, with ice creeping steadily across my heart, to feel my father's embrace and know he loved me. . .That was why I let Ada hurt me. He did not know what he was doing, it was only happiness--a foreign and all-consuming thing.  
  
*****  
  
TBC 


End file.
